


Hearts Like Ours

by lesbianettes



Category: Chicago Med
Genre: Coronation, F/F, Implied Past Abuse, Princess!Ava, Princess!Sarah, Smut, guard!ethan, mild violence, royal!AU, seamstress!natalie, tailor!connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:53:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22548844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianettes/pseuds/lesbianettes
Summary: Sarah didn’t know she was going to get married, but now she has a wife from a bitter country and a palace that no longer feels so friendly as her coronation approaches.Updates Every Weekday
Relationships: Ava Bekker/Sarah Reese
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

Sarah finds out about it exactly six days, three hours, nine minutes, and thirty seven seconds ahead of time. She’s just enjoying her breakfast and looking over an unusually busy schedule for the day when her father clears his throat across the table.

“I’m dying,” he tells her.

“I’m aware.”

“You need to get married before you ascend to the throne.”

That part she doesn’t even deign to respond to. They’ve argued about this since she was old enough to conceptualize marriage. Some arrogant, irritating man with a heart of greed and a mildly favorable position in another court will be chosen for her. They’ll marry. They’ll have kids whether she wants them or not, as she was so unkindly told when she bled for the first time and cried to one of the maids because she thought she was dying.

“Sarah.”

“Father.”

“I’ve arranged for your nuptials.”

“I’m not getting married.”

“You’ll be married on Sunday.”

“No.”

She stabs a bite of her omelette rather viciously with a fork, and after a long moment of consideration, doesn’t bother to eat it. The conversation has sent her stomach rattling with butterflies, and for all she’s worth, she can’t shake a mixture of nausea and terror at the mere thought of a wedding, let alone one orchestrated by her father. She knows what sort of man he is. What he did to his first wife. Her mother. His third wife. His string of mistresses, here and there. Who’s to say the husband he has chosen for her will not be the same?

The first thing on her schedule is a dress fitting. She assumed it would be another for her coronation dress, the royal colors stitched together in the finest silks from kingdoms abroad and perfectly tailored to her, held for now by safety pins on the back because eventually, she will be hand-stitched into it by Natalie’s careful and gifted fingers. Natalie’s mother before her made Sarah’s mother’s wedding dress and all her ceremonial gowns. The gift, the talent was passed from mother to child. Sarah doesn’t know much about her own mother outside what’s on the photos lining walls and newspaper clippings that spoke of a great and noble woman from the court. 

But this will be a wedding dress, and when she walks into the fitting chamber, Natalie has a spread of fabrics draped across the tables pushed against each wall. Some are a crisper white, others tinted a pale snowing blue, others falling toward a tawny cream. Fabric choices for the dress. Natalie herself sits on a stool finishing up a sketch.

“This is all we’ll be working on this week, the coronation dress is going to have to be on hold,” Natalie says. She sounds a little panicked. “I’ve narrowed it down to three designs already, and then we’ll choose a fabric and I’ll make a quick muslin to make sure you like it.”

“Did you know?”

Her lips pull into a sympathetic frown. “I just found out an hour ago. I’m sorry, Sarah.”

“Just show me the designs.”

The three thumbnails are all on the same page. One is mermaid style, Sarah recognizes that much. The next has a straight, but not form-fitting or puffy skirt that seems to be more conservative and catered to what her father would want her to wear. And there’s one with long sleeves and a mildly flared skirt, drawn with a slit up the center that reveals what appear to be pants as opposed to the plainly exposed feeling that skirts often leave her with. And it reminds her of something her mother would wear when walking among the people in old reports. 

“I like this one.”

“I thought you would.” Natalie turns to a new page and marks it with her pencil before standing up and reaching for the thin muslin to get a thought on shaping. Tighter on the bodice, flaring at the waist. The pants look in the sketch to be more like leggings, or tights, so that’s something that will probably be a separate piece from the rest. Sarah’s not certain, she doesn’t know much about clothes. “Arms out.”

The fabric wraps around her waist and cinches tight before being fit with pins to make sure it’s proper. Sarah can’t breathe, but it’ll be slightly better once she doesn’t have this gown in between. Another of Natalie’s creations. She’ll likely be stuffed into a corset, too, and that’ll come into play during fittings later on. An assistant comes in to start pinning long sleeves. Another starts on her skirt. There isn’t time to leave this to just Natalie, no matter her talent, because they’ve been given less than a week’s notice about what will become of her.

“Warm, cool, or neutral white?”

“What will the groom be wearing?”

“Something traditional from his country, probably.” Natalie loosens the fabric right beneath her shoulder blades. “Rumor has it he’s from Jenia, so we’re expecting red.”

“Fertility and passion.”

“Something like that.”

Sarah hums and decides she wants a cool toned white. Maybe even a pale blue or mint, a subtle expression of her displeasure at this whole affair. Marriage. She’d rather die, if she had any idea what would happen to the kingdom in her absence. Any other successor her father could think of naming would destroy them. 

“I want something green. Dark, actually. Think forest.”

“The king-”

“Isn’t getting married,” Sarah says firmly. “If I have to do this, I’ll do it my way, and I’m not going to wear white. He should be happy I don’t dress for mourning.”

“I’ll send someone for fabric.”

Natalie comes around to her front and pins the muslin around her chest before taking her pen and marking out a seam allowance and a line to throw a gathering stitch to better accentuate her body. It’s just for this awful wedding. 

“I’ll have the muslin and final sketch done by dinner, if you want to come by this evening to look over everything before I start the real thing. And I’ll have fabric by then, too.”

“Yeah.”

She spends the next half hour getting fitted before she’s off, leaving a kiss to Natalie’s cheek and a handful of bills in her palm to make up the difference between a meager seamstress’ salary and the expenses of a single mother trying to do right by her young son. There had been a time it was refused, but now, Natalie knows that Sarah won’t take no for an answer, and this is worth it. Owen is a happy kid in daycare, much more so than perpetually playing by himself in a pen or crib at the corner of the room. It’s good for both of them.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

Natalie smiles one last time as Sarah steps out and there’s a guard at her side to accompany her into town. Some fountain she’s dedicating in her last few weeks as a figurehead before someone else has to take her place. Freedom, fresh air, might help her with this stifled feeling rising in her chest and making her want to scream for any kind of release from this. At least it’s Ethan. He’s nice to her, makes her feel safe no matter what. And he’s polite to her, really, unlike some of the others. He doesn’t make comments about the way she looks, and he keeps a respectful touch when he must make contact. Gloved hand on her inner elbow to escort her, endlessly gentle when he pushes her behind him in a moment of danger. She trusts him.

“Apparently I’m getting married.”

“I’ve heard. Your father made the official announcement broadcast this morning. Apparently invitations were sent out a month ago.”

He waited so long to tell her. Sarah fucking hates her father and his underhanded manipulation to force her into what he wants. It’s too late to back out, however, and so she has to go along with it as much as possible. Once she’s queen, she’ll be able to find some way out of it.

“Your betrothed arrives on Friday night,” Ethan says, helping Sarah step up into the car. “I’m supposed to go to Jenia in the morning as part of the escort. A gesture of goodwill, I suppose.”

“You’ll be gone for all the planning? I can’t do this on my own, I-”

“You’ll be just fine, your highness.”

He shuts her door and comes around to the other side, slipping in just before the engine purrs to life and they’re off to the new fountain. Say some pre-prepared speech that someone else wrote for her about what it means for the country and the people. Cut a ribbon. Take a few photos. Kiss a baby. She hates the meaningless press jobs like this, but someone has to do them, and right now, that’s her. She’s been trained since birth to rule, but her control freak father won’t give her the slightest bit of influence. She’s just a pretty face for PR.

And as she winds up standing in bright sunlight, overheating in heavy fabric and reading off a fucking prompter for the cameras, she wishes that she could leave all this behind and be an actual ruler. Take care of her people instead of waste her time on all this petty shit.

By the time she gets home, she’s exhausted and her cheeks ache from false smiles, but she still has hours of responsibilities to fulfill.


	2. Chapter 2

“Your lipsticks are in,” Connor says as a servant sets the box on her vanity. “We’ll do a swatch test after this.” 

He’s been kneeling long enough to have a cushion placed beneath him, padding against the floor as he hand-stitches in the ruche of her skirt. The way to make it look the best is to stitch it while on the body, something Ava learned early into her time under the care of his precise work. There’s no one else she would trust with something as important as making her wedding dress.

No one usually wants to marry the cousins of the ruling line. 

Ava’s aunt’s cluster of children have been married off of the past few years and she figured she would be looking through the cities for someone to love, but then the proposal came. For months, she’s been looking forward to the prospect of a life somewhere new, with a princess soon to be queen, and a closet large enough for all her dresses. Besides, the diamond engagement ring has been rather fun to hang over her sisters’ heads as the only one facing the prospect of a powerful marriage. She’s building an alliance, not just finding love.

“I sent scraps to the company for reference, so hopefully at least one of the shades will match your dress.”

“If it doesn’t, I’m rioting. Where are we on the gloves?”

Connor fluffs the red satin of her skirts and leans back to study it. “The courier should have them by sunrise. You’ll have them for the final fitting tomorrow morning. Now-”He stands up and grins. “Lipstick?” 

She doesn’t dare to move, afraid of putting wrinkles into the skirt or stepping on its train, simply allowing him to fetch the box and pull out the five tubes perfectly designed just for her. She can’t get married in lipstick that doesn’t match her dress. What will the princess think?

One calloused hand takes her wrist to steady it and swatch each lipstick, one after the other in order. Two are matte, one is glossy, one has sparkles, and one is more of a balm that shouldn’t dry out and would make her more pleasant to kiss at the ceremony. But is it the prettiest? Ava holds her forearm right beside her skirt. They’re all beautiful. Then up beside her face. She likes the matte one with the barest hint of glitter poured into the thick formula, but she needs Connor’s opinion too.

“Whichever you like best, they’re all beautiful.”

She hums and holds out her arm, which has a servant running up with a towelette to wipe her skin clean. No stains on this beautiful dress Connor’s worked on every day for her. Not a single stitch was machine made. Every single thing was done by hand, even the belt of rubies that her jeweler made for her. This dress may be the most expensive thing she’s ever owned, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Does she need a tiara?

Before she can ask Connor, the door opens to one of the servants who usually belongs in the gardens. They shouldn’t be up here. There's chastisement on the tip of her tongue, but then the servant straightens their posture and clears their throat.

“My Lady, the escorts from Baille have just arrived. Your presence is requested.”

She doesn’t want to stop working on her dress, but she has to be there to greet them. With a long-suffering sigh, she allows Connor to undo the lacing down her back so she can step out of her wedding dress. The servants in the room avert their eyes while she steps back into her royal trappings, chosen just for this. Deep gold, perfectly tailored, and zipped up by Connor before she steps into her heels and hurries down to the gardens. This is it. This is the first step toward her new life, and she almost can’t believe this is happening after all her waiting. By the end of the week, she’ll be married. She’ll be a princess.

The escort party come out of their jet slowly, one after another. First, the guard in Baille insignia with the trademark sewn stars on his jacket breast. He fought for Baille. He personally looks after Princess Reese, Ava’s bride-to-be. Then a couple of servants. Another, less esteemed guard. A royal advisor. This is real.

Ava extends her hand expectantly as the first guard approaches, dropping to one knee before kissing her knuckles. “My Lady.”

The whole escort greets her much the same, respectful if conservative, not unlike their kingdom. How different life over there must be. The first guard introduces himself as Ethan Choi, and he offers her an arm respectfully as she and her own entourage lead the group to the dining room. It doesn't feel like supper time already, but one of the servants informs her it's nearing six. 

"I hope you like roasted goose," Ava says conversationally. Choi is too quiet and stiff for her tastes. "We consider it to be good luck when we make big decisions. Like marriage."

"I've never had goose, we don't eat it in Baille."

"It's very fatty and flavorful. It's good for you."

He hums at her and doesn't carry on the conversation. The rest of the escort doesn't even speak to her. Is this normal, or should she be offended? It's hard to know. She's never been to Baille, and the migration between their countries is all but zero. Ava doesn't know what she'll do if her wife is this stiff. 

Place cards assemble the guests, Ava placed at the head and her parents, her aunt and uncle, and their eldest son surrounding her. The escort sits at the other end of the table. Tonight is about her. The first pour of wine is into her cup, and the servants fill her plate first, and all of the chatter is about her wedding. Have the candles arrived safely at the palace? What color gold have the rings been made with? Does Ava's have gems? Will she be a figurehead or a functioning princess and eventually, queen? How many of her people may she bring with her?

That last question, she already knows. She's bringing exactly one person, and it's Connor. He's always treated her with respect and kindness. So many like to act as though she's stupid. Shallow. But she's just living, honestly, and trying to survive in a world that has told her what the lady of the royal court must be. All that her days hold are dress fittings, makeup, chatter. She doesn't mean anything here. She'll mean something once she's married.

Across the table, Choi does not stop watching her. She doesn't like it. Nothing good comes of being seen like this, something she learned too well as a child wandering too far from the safety of mother's skirts. 

"Do you need something?" She eventually asks. 

"I'm just surprised, My Lady, I mean no ill will. His Majesty did not give me any information on my princess' betrothed."

"You expected a princess?" She asks.

Her mother kicks her under the table. 

"Not at all."

"Why are you surprised?"

The advisor takes a long sip of wine. Ava already doesn't like him. "We thought the king would marry his daughter off to someone who could give him grandchildren."

Ava sets down her fork and stands up. "I've lost my appetite. May you all rest pleasantly."

Her mother calls after her, but Ava doesn't turn back. Her face is burning red, her eyes stinging with tears. That shouldn't have hurt, but it did, and now she wonders what the princess will think because it never even occurred to her that her betrothed would expect a prince. Someone with standing who could give her an heir and more political fuel, and would be able to consummate marriage in traditional terms. She got so buried in the engagement that she forgot what lies beyond the palace walls- a world she cannot control. 

She strips off her formal gown the second she's alone in her room, banishes the servants, and stares her blotchy reflection in the mirror as she scrubs the makeup off her face. It'll be thicker than icing for the cameras when she gets married. She hates stage makeup. She needs a shower, hot tea, music. She needs to calm down. As she turns on the water and brushes her hair out smooth, she sends Connor a message to come by in about an hour. He always knows what to say. And he often brings her something to smoke until she floats. 

All she really knows about the princess is her name and the photos that get published by the media. Her Royal Highness, Princess Sarah Reese is absolutely stunning and completely unknown to her people. There's no way to know if she even wants a wife, because these marriages are often arranged overhead. After all, Ava didn't know she was engaged until after the arrangement was agreed upon by her family and the princess' father. She'll be married by the end of the week, and it's suddenly scary as opposed to exciting .


	3. Chapter 3

Once Ethan leaves, things kind of speed along. Sarah’s entire schedule becomes consumed by wedding planning. Cake tasting until she’s sick to her stomach, choosing floral arrangements from the flowers approved by Jenia for the wedding, approving decorations for the cathedral, getting her dress fitted and adjusted and embroidered. She doesn’t have time for anything else, and it feels strange to have no one to talk to except Natalie. Ethan’s the only other friend she has, really, and with him gone, the palace is lonelier than ever.

But at least she sneaks some of the tasting cakes to Natalie to share, as well as take up some time with anything other than this horrible wedding. If she’s busy, Sarah wonders how her staff must be feeling; evidently, they didn’t know this was coming either. Suddenly having to create a wedding must be stressful. Tiers of cake, a dress, decorations befitting a royal wedding. That’s not even beginning to cover the specific requirements that the guests will demand. 

Somehow, she’s found herself caught again in the weight of responsibility. Sure, this opulence is affordable to her, but the rest of her people, including those in her staff, often struggle to make ends meet in any capacity. They’d never be able to get a dress like this at the drop of a hat, perfectly form-fitted to their bodies to make them look as stunning as possible. Show off their body to someone who will soon control them. 

“What do you think he'll be like?"

"I don't know."

Natalie sets aside her cake to help Sarah into the dress and sew pearls onto the bodice. There's no one else she would trust with a needle so close to her skin; Natalie has never pricked her, nor ruined a design.

She pauses to change the thread color of her needle and shrugs. "I heard that the Bekker family can be a bit stuck up. But your husband will just be a figurehead, you won't have to spend much time with him."

In theory, sure. Sarah looks at herself in the mirror, admiring the cut of the dress and the freedom the slacks beneath the skirt give her. She feels freer than in her coronation dress, even if this is symbolic of a trap she may never be able to free herself from. At least she’ll still have Natalie and Ethan, and before she knows it, she’ll be queen and no one will be able to force these decisions on her ever again. She’ll be able to choose for herself, finally, and make better decisions for their people. 

And as they’re putting finishing touches on the dress today, Sarah knows that her betrothed is going to be here tonight and they’ll share a meal in the dining hall, something far too rich that she won’t even enjoy. Her husband will. And then he’ll have to keep getting fancy and terrible meals that she won’t be able to eat until she eventually wastes away and there’s another selfish airhead in charge of the people. 

She still can’t believe she’s getting married in two days. 

Just as Natalie finishes one of the last pearls added in, she gives Sarah a smile and helps her out of the dress and pants. “You should get into your dinner gown.”

“Help me with it?”

“Of course.”

Natalie takes the stunning maroon dress off its hanger and helps Sarah step into it before lacing up the back. She wishes, not for the first time, that she had clothes that were actually practical, not just for everyday wear, but for getting dressed and undressed without help. The dinner gown has been waiting for a formal dinner for months, and it’s a little painful that Sarah didn’t see this coming. Why else would her father commission a new dress like this for her without explaining himself? It’s beautiful, but it’s another beautiful trap.

“You’re going to get through this.”

“Am I?”

“You are.”

She takes down Sarah’s loose ponytail and quickly pulls it back into a braid. Nothing too fancy, but more presentable and out of her way. Good enough for dinner, and if her father has anything to say about it, she’ll scream until he finally keels over and dies. It’s taken him long enough already.

Sarah winds up the second to last person to arrive to the dinner, announced by her title and surrounded by faces familiar and less so as they bow and curtsy to her. One after the other as she walks by before standing in front of her chair at the head of the table. Staring down to the empty seat at the very foot of the table. Six seats on each side of the table will separate them when her betrothed arrives. They’ll have to look at each other. She’s got no way out of this, and she has a brief thought about just standing up and leaving. 

But then.

“Introducing Lady Ava Bekker.”

Lady.

Her head is spinning. The herald steps to the side kindly, letting in Lady Bekker and showing off the way she seems to glow. A pale blue, mermaid fit dress glitters like her waves of golden hair, her glossy lips alluring when she smiles along with her slow, deep curtsy. She’s beautiful. And Sarah wonders how bad it would actually be to marry someone like her. It’s a face she wouldn’t mind waking up to on an early morning.

But that doesn’t negate the political motive behind this or the fact that Lady Bekker was chosen for her, and can’t be someone good for her in the long run. No matter how stunning her smile is and the way she so delicately picks up her glass of wine and brings it to her lips.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness,” Lady Bekker says, and her voice is like honey with a warm, forgiving drawl. “My name is Ava.”

Sarah hums in response instead of really responding, and the smile drops off her face. The frown is beautiful too, but in a more painful way that makes Sarah look down at whatever decadent, painfully rich pasta dish was dumped in front of her by a server. She has no appetite, certainly not for this traditional dish or the second course from Jenia, but there will be no escaping this meal, even as her father glares at her over a sip of his water for being rude. 

“Your guard tells me you draw?”

“Sometimes.” Was Ethan just talking about her the entire time? Did Ava ask? “I don’t have much time for it.”

There’s a weak smile on Ava’s face again. “Perhaps you would be willing to show me some of your work after supper?”

“No.”

An advisor gives her a dirty look. Good for him. They can force her to get married to someone she’s just met, but they can’t force her to be happy about it. Even if her betrothed is a beautiful lady of the Jenian court who has an absolutely addictive voice. Sarah looks to Ethan at her right for help, but he’s looking at a guest of Ava’s. Nice, but relatively inexpensive clothing not unlike what the palace workers here would have for special occasions. Dark hair and blue eyes, an easy grin that turns rather sharp at the edges when he meets Ethan’s eyes. She’d put money on them sleeping together by the morning after the wedding. 

“Then maybe you could show me your city tomorrow? It seemed beautiful, and I would love the chance to speak to you before the wedding-”

“No.”

Ethan kicks her under the table. She kicks him back harder with the point of her heels. She cannot wait to take these things off tonight and just lay down and forget what’s happening. Maybe someone will bring her a drink tonight to help in the process. Anything to try and distance herself from this, especially when Ava raises a hand up and flicks it. 

“Leave us.”

Her entourage all obey, but Sarah’s look to her. She gets to make this decision, even if Ava’s entourage technically should have awaited her response as well. “Ethan, stay.” And so the rest leave, and Ethan’s hand goes toward his hip defensively. Just in case. Always ready to protect her in the worst-case scenario.

“You seem tense, Your Highness.”

“I was ambushed with a wedding a week before it’s supposed to happen.”

Ava tilts her head to the side and stands up, slowly walking the length of the table. “Ambushed? They didn’t tell you?”

“Did they tell you?”

“As soon as it was decided, months ago.”

If she covers her face with her hands, maybe it’ll all go away. But she knows it won’t, especially because Ethan clears his throat to remind her she’s not alone, somewhere safe to break down. She has a guest.

“Look, Your Highness, I’m sorry that this happened to you, but-” Up close, Ava is even prettier, and her hand is warm, laying it over Sarah’s. “Shouldn’t we make the most of this? I mean, if we’re going to be married, we should at least get to know each other a little, and your kingdom is stunning-”

Sarah stands up swiftly and smooths down her dress. “We’re getting married for politics. Don’t make it more than it is.”

As she leaves, Ethan trailing behind her, she knows she’ll be getting the lecture of a lifetime tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter because she’s not going to be swayed into this arrangement by a pretty face and a dream to kiss someone so beautiful.


	4. Chapter 4

That went horribly. Worse than Ava could imagine. The princess hated her before they even met, and made it clear that whatever this marriage will be, loving isn’t it. There was always a real chance of this, but it’s different to have had it happen, to be living with the pain of knowing she has been fully rejected but unable to back out of this marriage. The princess hates her. And the day after tomorrow, they’ll be tied for life with no escape.

No peace exists for her here and now, somewhere she’s unfamiliar and without so much of her family. They’re coming on the morning of, ready for the wedding, leaving her with no one but a couple of spare guards and Connor to keep her company as she stands on a balcony. The city really is beautiful. Clusters of lights, golden and heavy, twinkle up at her and hint at the shadows of the royal garden. That will house the engagement photos tomorrow and the reception Sunday, but she’d rather explore it on her own, or with the princess at her side. 

Someone knocks at her door, and she reluctantly opens it in case she’s going to be brought to another event to welcome her to the kingdom. There’s no more magic. Instead, she feels a little trapped in something that will merely run her life into the ground and leave her lonelier than ever before.

It must be a Baille servant, because Ava doesn’t recognize the woman. She’s dressed plainly, with a loose braid and wide brown eyes that remind her of a puppy. What does she want? If this was about the wedding, it would be someone higher ranked, and no servant should be coming to her quarters unannounced this late. Perhaps she should call a guard. 

“Lady Bekker.” The woman curtsies and looks up at her. “My name is Natalie, I’m the princess’ seamstress. Could I speak with you for a moment?”

Ava isn’t entirely sure if it’s safe, but what else does she have to lose? She steps to the side and allows Natalie into the room for whatever reason she’s come here. She doesn’t seem to be too much of a threat at least. If she tries something, Ava will have a chance against her at the very least. And Natalie walks in like the room is familiar, takes a comfortable seat on the faint couch and offers her a hesitant smile.

“I know that she wasn’t very nice to you. She’s just scared, is all- no one told any of us about the wedding until a few days ago.”

“She clearly doesn’t want to marry me.”

Now Natalie won’t make eye contact with her, but it’s not a respect thing like with the servants at home; it’s more out of an awkwardness and unhappiness that comes from being caught in a shitty conversation like this one while knowing it’s entirely her fault for starting it in the first place. That’s what she gets for showing up in Ava’s chambers late at night to talk to her about the fact that she will be married in two days to someone who hates her.

“Of course not, she doesn’t know you. This is a terrible situation, My Lady, for both of you, but I must beg you to give Her Royal Highness a chance. She’s very sweet, and kind, and understanding, but she’s been pushed into this with no warning. You have to be patient with her.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

Natalie lowers her gaze in humility, as she should. Ava will not lower herself to taking orders from a servant. But perhaps she has a point, that her betrothed is more than meets the eye, simply overwhelmed by the wedding. It’s something good to hope for. There could be the slightest chance that this marriage won’t be completely painful and lonely, like so much of Ava’s life at home in the shadows of her sisters and the actual royal family.

“Do you honestly think it will get better?” Ava asks her.

Hesitation is nearly answer enough, but then Natalie stands and tucks her hair behind her ears. “I think it could. I’ll talk to my princess, alright? Just please don’t give up on her.

At that, Natalie dismisses herself, something no one would have dared to do in Jenia, but it seems there are different codes for the servants here. After the marriage, she’ll have a conversation about their behavior toward her. So impolite of someone who will soon be their princess, and eventually their queen.

That’s something Ava really is looking forward to even if her betrothed doesn’t want her; to be a queen is glamour. Jewels and dresses and parties and as much extravagance as she wants because she sets the rules, and no one can take anything away from her ever again no matter what. She’s always wanted to be a queen. All that she has to do is survive the princess, which Natalie seems determined to help her do. Does the seamstress have ulterior motives, she wonders?

No matter, because Ava is already adjusting her bracelet and making her leave, ignoring the guard that trails her at a respectable five foot distance. They’re tighter about security here. It could just be another difference, or because she’s suddenly become so much more valuable than she ever could have hoped to be back at home.

“Ask Her Royal Highness to meet me in the gardens, please. Tell her that it the idea was Natalie’s.” Just in case Natalie somehow has more sway than she does. “Immediately.”

A quiet murmur marks the guard telling someone to pass it along as Ava finds her way to the huge, crystal clear glass doors leading into the gardens. They bask in the golden light of countless lamps, nearly as plentiful as the glimmering stars above when she takes a seat at a carved wooden bench and watches moths chase each other around a soft red flower she doesn’t recognize. A Baille native, then, or imported from a Jenian enemy.

For the first few minutes of solitude, Ava worries that the princess will not come. Seconds before she gives up, there’s the creak of the doors, and she’s greeted with the sight of Princess Reese in a pair of luxurious sleep pants and a form fitting tank top. She’s stunning. But she’s still coldly distant when she sits at Ava’s side.

“I think an apology might be in order,” the princess says softly. “This whole thing- it isn’t your fault, and I shouldn’t have treated you like I did at dinner.”

“It’s okay. You were just scared.”

The words feel softer on her tongue than they sounded on Natalie’s, but that is harsh in comparison to the feel of the princess’ hand in hers when she reaches out with more confidence than she expected of herself. It’s nice to hold someone’s hand. Soon they’ll do more; every marriage must be consummated, after all.

“You can call me Sarah. Since we’re getting married, and all that.”

“Ava.”

Sarah is a beautiful name, perfect to match the angelic face that smiles at her in the glow of the gardens and makes her think of the stories of angels that were told to her to send a restless child off to peaceful sleep. No nightmares, no monsters under the bed, nothing to fear for a little girl growing up in luxury. She realized the angels weren’t real as she got older, but now that she’s even more grown, she knows that they are. One is standing right in front of her with kissable lips and corkscrew curls and wide doe eyes and Ava thinks that she may just love her already. But alas, of course, there is no such way to express it before Sarah pulls away and suggests they both find their way back to their chambers and get some rest for the exhaustion the next day will bring.

She can’t wait to tell Connor about this turn of events.


	5. Chapter 5

After that surreal encounter with Ava in the gardens, Saturday breezes by so quickly that Sarah’s wondering if it even happened at all. In the blink of an eye, she’s gone from that magical moment between the two of them under the peaceful night sky to a stylist putting rouge on her cheeks as Natalie sews her into her wedding dress. Two hours, and she’ll be at the altar. Someone else will come in after Natalie’s finished to do her hair. And then she’ll be led to the cathedral, where they’ll be married in front of a crowd, and rushed to a reception in the gardens.

With some arguing yesterday, Sarah convinced her father to disallow the photo op beforehand in favor of just taking photos at the ceremony. She’s tired. She wants this over with. Spending the morning taking photos instead of enjoying her last few hours of peace as a free woman just wasn’t appealing, and that extra time has helped her get a little more rest and bury her frustrations in sketching out the scenery from her window view. She’s going to be married.

“The dress really is beautiful,” she says. It’s all that she can. “Thanks, Nat.”

Natalie makes an affirmative noise, and that’s the most reaction Sarah gets from her the rest of the morning. No one is really talking to her this morning. They’re all too stressed out and afraid of upsetting any of the guests for the wedding. One of the princesses from Ava’s family struck Ethan in the face this morning. She wanted him whipped, maybe killed, but Sarah stepped in to protect him. And no one has even explained what he did wrong. 

She hopes that Ava won’t be so harsh, especially not with the help, but there’s no way of finding out now. That will have to come after they’re married. She hates everything about this. Especially as Ethan walks her to the cathedral, and she can see the bright red handprint across his face in a crisp reminder that he did something to upset the Bekker royal family. Everyone in their kingdom will know. Sarah’s father will yell at her again later about it, but what matters is that Ethan’s still beside her and okay.

“I’ll be right beside you the entire time,” he tells her, too softly for the maid lifting her train from the ground to hear. “It’ll be okay.”

She wishes she could believe him, but Sarah is a realist, so she merely nods and keeps her steady walk to a wedding that will be her end. Ethan walks her down the aisle, too, because she takes the “groom”’s place at the altar to wait with the whole wedding party until Ava is escorted in. Ethan doesn’t stand with her. Her bridesmaids were chosen for her, ladies of the court in plain sleet grey dresses with bouquets to match Ava’s bridesmaids in a pale pink. The rows of pews are filled with esteemed guests. Someone is playing soft wedding music that fills the high ceilings. Now they’re just waiting for Ava, which takes a few awkward minutes before the music gets louder and one of the princesses- young and sweet faced, but decked out in jewels and finery- casts petals down the aisle as Ava follows. No one walks her down the aisle. She goes by herself. And she’s stunning. Bright red lipstick that matches her dress, a gold tiara inlaid with rubies, and lashes so dark and heavy compared to before that they simply must be false. Sarah thinks she has some as well. The stylist did glue something to her eyelids that’s left them feeling heavy. 

Unfortunately for her, Ava is ethereally beautiful, a vision out of a dream as she takes her position right in front of Sarah, smiling a little and her bright eyes so easy to get lost in. It’s killing her. She knows what sort of people come from Jenia, and yet, it’s hard to see that when Ava seems so stunning and kind and Sarah doesn’t have to look at the mark on Ethan’s face.

The vows have been written for them, recited by the officiant in an impersonal ceremony as they each whisper an ‘I do’ and Sarah tries to pretend that this isn’t happening. She’s torn between wanting to run out of here before it’s permanent, and being just enthralled by Ava’s beauty and the way her lips curl around the vow. But she’s been distracted, and suddenly she’s told she may kiss the bride and Ava’s hands are on her waist. Pulling her closer. Tilting her head to the side just so slightly. Sarah’s never kissed someone, and maybe this is a bad time to start, but hey, nothing she can do about it now. 

Beneath the waxy glide of lipstick, Ava’s lips are soft and her grip is tender, like Sarah is fragile. She’s never experienced anything like this before. But it’s good, it’s good, and she could drown in it if they weren’t surrounded by other people and Ava didn’t eventually pull back looking entirely too pleased with herself.

“Oh.”

Ava laughs at her and takes her hand. The rings are there, bright and heavy, but that’s not as important as being led out of the cathedral, trailed by the wedding party and a handful of guards. Sarah tries to head toward the gardens, but there’s a faint tug on her hand as Ava continues to follow Ethan.

“I thought the reception was in the gardens?”

That smile. Ava’s little smug smile. “Yes, but we consummate before the reception in my country.”

Great, everyone will be waiting for them to have sex before the reception starts, and they’ll all know what happened, and Sarah will have to figure out the intricacies of how to even have sex with another girl when the only experience she has is using the showerhead to take care of herself on a boring night. She doesn’t know shit about how to make someone else feel good, let alone the apparently high-maintenance and experienced woman taking her to her room.

Ethan pats her shoulder as he opens the bedroom door for them. Before it shuts, she sees the whole wedding party leave, so at least they won’t be standing outside her door and listening. Watching was a mistake, however, because when she turns around, Ava has made herself comfortable on Sarah’s bed with the scarlet skirt of her wedding gown hiked up out of the way, knees bent and legs spread to reveal the barest hint of panties that of course match her dress and lipstick and jewelry. It’s all about coordination.

“I haven’t done this before,” Sarah begrudgingly admits. “I don’t know how to…”

“I’ll guide you. Come on.”

Reluctantly, she kneels on the bed between Ava’s spread legs, and she knows enough to ease the panties off her. That part is easy. But then she’s looking directly at the warm, soft space between Ava’s legs and she wants. What she wants, she doesn’t know entirely, but she wants and she looks up at Ava’s face to try and snap herself out of this stupor that has started to cling to her. In answer, Ava grabs her wrist and pulls it close, presses her fingers against her where she can feel how slick and hot she is to the touch. It’s like her own body, but different. And Sarah’s never really explored her body with her own hands, so the territory is still fairly unfamiliar. She seeks out Ava’s clit and applies just a little pressure with her thumb, making little circles and listening to Ava’s sweet little sigh.

“Good, just like that. Have- have you ever fingered yourself?”

Sarah shakes her head, but has to verbalize it anyway because Ava has shut her eyes and let her head fall back against the pillows, the picture of seduction. 

“Okay, Just- put two of your fingers together, and can you- move down a little, press harder-” The tips of Sarah’s fingers sink into Ava’s pussy, and she forgets how to breathe despite not being the one on the receiving end of the pleasure. “Perfect. Just fuck me with those, hmm? And- and keep touching my clit.”

Demanding, but Sarah doesn’t mind because her motions may be clumsy but Ava is evidently enjoying herself and there’s a warmth pooling in her own stomach that has her trailing her free hand into the waistband of her slacks. And as she touches, she has to watch because there’s something absolutely intoxicating about watching her fingers push into Ava over and over again, seeing as well as feeling how wet she is and the way her thighs start to shake. God, she’s perfect. So perfect.

And as Ava gets louder, can’t keep still, Sarah is more insistent with the hand on- in? Ava as well as the one she uses to touch herself, and it all builds higher and higher without stopping until the moment that it’s too much for both of them. She stops touching herself. Ava pushes her away. Her hand is so wet, glistening in the light with sticky strands connecting two of her fingers, and an impulse in the back of her head has her licking them clean. Slightly tangy, slightly sweet, thick in her mouth and downright addictive. She wants to do it again.

But then Ava is standing up and smoothing her shirt, struggling to hold her balance as she cleans her smudged lipstick and messy hair. Their kingdoms wait in the gardens for the reception, and Sarah’s struck dumb when Ava takes her hand and leads her away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is late my brother gave me the plague so I've been kinda out of it lol

The reception is a bore compared to what Sarah gave to her in private chambers. Is she certain that she’s never done this before? All Ava can think about is Sarah’s nimble fingers, the way she licked them clean with that perfect pink tongue that she’d love to have on her the next time they share that intimacy. As they slice the cake, cutting through the buttercream and revealing soft sponge layered with more frosting. She doesn’t recall having a say in the cake, so it must have been Sarah’s decision. They didn’t get to do any of this together, merely receiving pieces that someone else had to put together.

At first, she feels almost at ease, like Sarah doesn’t hate her and everything will be alright, but after their first dance, she finds herself abandoned with guests to chat up. Everyone wants to hear from their new princess, after all, and is she upset that she won’t be coronated until after Sarah becomes queen so that she may be properly indoctrinated as their ruler? Cameras flash in her face and reporters harass her. It isn’t as fun as it looked when her cousins were followed by paparazzi.

But the worst comes when someone shows her a photo of Sarah’s personal guard, cheek bright red with a recognizable handprint. Ava has bore that mark before, when she was too young to really know her place in the palace. 

“Can you speak to who attacked Her Royal Highness’ personal guard, or why they would have done so? Should he be discharged?”

She gives a bubbly, well practiced dismissal before weaving her way back toward familiar territory. Sarah will help. Except that Ava can’t find her, only the seamstress at a table with a handful of other servants. The guard included. His lip is split, bleeding slightly, as Connor holds a bag of ice to his face. This imperfection shouldn’t be on display. No one can see. She edges her way closer, so that she may hear what they’re talking about.

“They’ll be gone tomorrow,” Natalie says, fussily dabbing at a dribble of blood on Ethan’s white dress uniform. The stain will probably never come out. “And then you don’t have to worry about it. You know Sarah wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“But she married one of them.”

Connor lifts the ice enough for Ava to see a purple welt cutting across Ethan’s cheek. “Ava isn’t like that.”

“How do you know?”

She clears her throat to announce her presence and they all go dead silent, watching her closely. Even Connor, despite having just defended her. “Would you accompany me inside? I’m looking for Sarah, and someone told me she may have stepped in for a break.”

Ethan visibly swallows but still agrees, standing up and offering an arm in escort. The handprint was obvious in origin, but the new wound is harder. It looks like someone whipped his face, but there’s no way that happened here, now, in the middle of her wedding reception without everyone having seen. Herself included. She doesn’t get what happened, although it seems that it was someone from her court or family hurt him, and now the servants here expect the same from her. She wouldn’t lay her hands on them.

“Are you alright?” Ava asks once they’re out of earshot from the rest of the reception.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

That’s strange to hear, but she is a princess now. Not a lady of the court, but true royalty by virtue of her wife. She shouldn’t focus on that now, not when something is clearly wrong.

“Who hurt you?”

“I’m clumsy.”

She shakes her head. “Not as the princess’ royal guard, you’re not. And I saw the handprint earlier. I can’t protect you if you don’t tell me who did it.”

“All due respect, I don’t need your protection.”

Ethan opens the door for her and ushers her inside. Although Ava made up the excuse about where Sarah was, her wife is seated at the window ledge with a glass of wine and her knees to her chest, watching the festivities.

“Sarah.”

In the instant between Sarah seeing Ava and seeing Ethan, she has a split second of hope. It fades the second Sarah stands up and pulls Ethan out of her reach, cupping his face with her bottom lip worried between her teeth.”

“What did you do to him?”

“I didn’t-”

“Just go.”

She can’t argue. Ava just returns to the gardens, alone, and feels every servant at the table watching her with curiosity and fear because Ethan isn’t there anymore. Even Connor has that tight look on his face, and he’s supposed to be on her side. Nothing is better. She feels lonelier than ever now, getting a boozy drink and eating her wedding cake by herself while everyone else parties around her without a care for how she feels or what she is. 

There’s a part of her, angry and vindictive, that drives her to knock over what’s left of the wedding cake as anything breakable she can find. All the fine china. Wine glasses and booze bottles. Tables and chairs. She just breaks it because then maybe the turmoil inside of her will be released.

The worst part is that no one stops her. 

No one has the power to stop her, nor do they care why she’s acting like this or what the ramifications could be as the press take fervent pictures and videos. Piece by piece, she dismantles her own party and stains her hands and dress with everything she breaks. Hors d'oeuvres cling to her skirts. Frosting smears her hands. One of her heels breaks. She’s just angry and upset until eventually, as she’s heaving for breath, a guard approaches her gently and offers a hesitant guiding arm.

“You’ve cut your hands, Your Highness. May I take you to the medical wing?”

Ava sniffles and nods. At least then, it’ll be over. Murmurs from the guests trail behind her as they go inside, passing through empty halls until they come upon a medium sized infirmary where Sarah and Ethan are, because there is no relief for her. A doctor is holding Ethan’s face, examining his welt and talking to him gently as Sarah looks on. They make eye contact. Sarah doesn’t say a word.

Almost immediately, someone comes to attend to her. Broken glass has sliced her palms, and the pain of it grounds her as the doctor slowly pulls out the shards one by one. One of the gashes gets a numbing agent and stitches before she’s bandaged up and effectively helpless to take care of herself until they heal. Maybe she should have thought this through, because Sarah isn’t going to help her, and neither will any of the servants. 

Once the doctor gives her some care instructions and leaves her, she looks to Sarah and Ethan again. He’s laying down with ice on his face while she talks to the doctor, although her eyes are on Ava. Seen. But not wanted. Ava looks back at her bandaged hands and lowers herself off the bed with the guard’s help. He’s quieter than Ethan, but much more nervous. 

“I want to go back to our chambers. Show me the way.”

“Yes, your highness.”

They go slowly but steadily, Ava kicking off what’s left of her heels on the way because she just wants this night to be over already, and by the time they reach the room, she doesn’t want to deal with struggling out of this dress herself. Even with working hands, she had needed help. So when the guard is about to leave, she clears her throat.

“My gown is stitched on. They’re pretty loose, but I can’t reach, so I need you to tear open the back seam.”

“Your Highness-”

“Do it,” she snaps.

He silently comes up behind her and his hands are cold when they skim her neck after brushing her hair out of the way. She doesn’t want to stand here while he fumbles to undress her, especially with the ever present chance that he will refuse to leave after, but it’s the only choice she has now.

When he’s halfway through tearing the seams off her back, the door opens.

“Halstead, why are you undressing my wife?”

“I- she-”

“Dismissed.”

The guard- Halstead- scurries out at Sarah’s instruction, and she takes his place undoing the back of Ava’s dress until it sags off her body and she can step out of it. In the morning, she’ll have someone dispose of it. She never wants to see it again, wouldn’t even if it wasn’t ruined by her fit at the reception.

“I didn’t hurt Ethan,” Ava says almost pleadingly as she struggles on the vanity to get a makeup cloth. “I didn’t, I swear.”

Sarah takes that over, too, getting a towelette and gently beginning to wipe off the layers of foundation and lipstick and concealer and eyeshadow and everything else that three stylists had forced her into this morning. 

“I know, he told me.”

And then Sarah starts brushing her hair too, even if it’s still a little sticky with hairspray, until the tangles are gone and Ava feels a little bit less like a doll and more like herself. No matter how much she loves the drama of outfits like those, she can’t live in them. 

“You can have the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“But-”

Sarah holds up a hand to silence her and calls her seamstress to remove her from her own gown.


	7. Chapter 7

During Ethan’s brief stay in the infirmary just to make sure he wasn’t concussed or anything of the sort by the strike, he tells Sarah that it was the eldest of the princesses from Jenia who came to the wedding. She ordered him to fetch her a new cocktail, and he tried to explain that he was a guard. So she hit him in the face with a plate. It was one of her younger sisters that struck him last night. As much as Sarah wants to believe that Ava is different, it’s hard to know when these are the people who raised her. Who’s to say she won’t turn the rage she gave the reception onto the guards, or the servants. God forbid she lay a hand on Natalie, who would never dream of defending herself.

Their first breakfast as wives is an awkward affair. Ava needs to be led to the dining room, unfamiliar with the palace, and no one will speak to her because of last night’s outburst. She’s less dressy now, wearing a fairly plain gown and flats, no makeup on and her hair braided loose, but there’s no questioning her newly earned status with the tiara she wears still. 

Sarah can’t forget Ethan’s presence behind her. Ava’s family hurt him, and Sarah has a responsibility to protect her people and staff from things like that. Not only has she failed him, but there’s one of them here permanently, and she can’t shake this fear of Ava hurting those she cares about.

“You have a press meeting after lunch,” she says, nodding toward Ava’s fairly barren schedule. “They’ll want to talk about the wedding and what sort of policies you hope to put into place as their princess and future queen. The tutors will help you with that before you go on.”

“They’re going to ask about the reception.”

“Who’s fault is that, Ava?”

Suddenly deciding to remind everyone he’s here, Sarah’s father coughs for almost a minute straight. They all just watch. No one rushes to help him anymore, knowing there’s nothing to be done. And Sarah, well, as far as she’s concerned, the sooner he dies, the better.

Her own day is much more busy. She needs to meet with a Jenian ambassador to finalize the treaty built on this marriage. Both herself and Ava need to be fitted for their crowns. She has a foreign policy class, and a PR engagement in the city with the school in the low income district. She’d rather spend the day checking on the workers to see if anyone else fell victim to the rage of the Bekker family, but duty calls louder and she has no choice. 

“I won’t be around much today. But if I find out that you laid so much as a finger on any of my people-”

“I wouldn’t hurt them.”

Ava looks so sincere, and Sarah really does want to believe her, but she simply can’t. Not with all that’s happened. She chooses not to respond at all, instead finishing her breakfast so she can attend to her schedule and know that Natalie and Ethan are safe, far away from Ava and not in danger of getting hurt worse than they already have. Part of her feels guilty for not even being able to look at Ethan’s face without wincing right now. She didn’t protect him. She can’t protect him.

As the two of them leave, off to go handle the treaty, Ethan rests a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t blame you,” he says. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Whose is it?”

He doesn’t have an answer to that, nor does he have a response when the ambassador makes a snide comment about what he must have done to earn the abuse. Sarah wonders sometimes how he’s so poised in the face of such comments. The treaty gets signed, and she carries on with her day, but all she can think about are his bruises and how dismissive the Jenians are. Would Ava ever hit her? She wants to think no, but she honestly barely knows her wife and it’s always a possibility.

That doesn’t turn out to be anywhere near as big an issue as Ava’s press statement, because despite allegedly being prepped beforehand, she makes an absolute mess on camera. She says she’s never thought about any policy. She says she doesn’t understand economics. She redirects every conversation back to clothes. She gets aggressive when asked about last night’s outburst. All in all, it just makes her, her kingdom, and Sarah look terrible.

“No more solo conferences,” Sarah tells her assistant when they’re on their way to the school. “Ava never goes on camera alone again. Whenever she’s needed, I have to be there too.”

Notes are made. A prewritten speech is read. Sarah reads a picture book to the children who look like they haven’t eaten in days but isn’t permitted to offer them food even though she so easily could. The day somehow feels like even more of a waste than those she spent planning the God-forsaken wedding, and to top it all off, Ethan has to go off duty halfway through the day because the pain is so bad he needs to go to the infirmary for painkillers, which then put him out of commission until they wear off. She hates the way her world has changed.

Worst of all, perhaps, when she gets back to her room after a dinner with a few members of parliament, Ava and her tailor are sitting on the bed, passing a blunt back and forth lazily. Ava’s crying. The tailor is talking about Ethan. They both freeze when she comes in, however, and the tailor puts out the smoke on his shoe before leaving, head down.

“Sarah,” Ava whines. She hikes up her dress. “Come here.”

“I’m not having sex with you again, especially when you’re high.”

“But you have to! I’m your wife…”

She doesn’t even dignify that with a response. Their marriage doesn’t mean anything, and even if it did, she doesn’t owe Ava sex. The most she owes her is protecting her from the press moving forward. And she definitely doesn’t owe her the right to smoke up their room, so she’ll be putting a note out in the morning not to let Ava have access to anything that could get her high. Sarah carefully picks up a weepy and clingy Ava, carries her to the ensuite, and sits her at the bottom of the shower before turning on the water. Lukewarm, so as not to freeze her but not to be comfortable either.

“Get up when you’re sober,” she says firmly, and turns on heel to go back to bed, her bed.

And if she can’t free herself from the memories of what it felt like to actually have sex with Ava, she doesn’t remember it come morning.


	8. Chapter 8

As it turns out, every servant in the palace is afraid of her. Over the course of two lonely weeks, Ava struggles to find just one person who will talk to her, since Connor has all but stopped, but they all keep their eyes down and hurry away like they think she’ll hurt them. She’s not like that. Not like her family. 

There are moments that she wants to be, however, and it boils up inside her as she learns the ways of this palace. Which servants and guards linger where, what rooms are unlocked, who will fetch her anything upon request. But most of all, she learns about Sarah’s father, a distant, cold, often degrading man who has nothing but criticism for the princess and has policies that even Ava knows are a bad idea, and she’ll admit she’s a little lacking in practical subjects. She can’t imagine having such an unpleasant man as her father. Then again, she can’t imagine having a father at all.

From what she gathers, he’s ill. Soon he’ll be gone, but still the bastard clings to life, making everyone miserable, and the impulses that made Ava lose it at the reception are firing again, telling her to just speed along his death. She shouldn’t. She can’t. It would be better though, wouldn’t it?

It’s as they’re both getting ready for bed one night that she brings it up to Sarah, as casually as she can manage because she knows Ethan’s face is still slightly bruised and puffy with the evidence of what her family will do when they don’t get their way. Killing the king would be different, primarily because it would be for Sarah, but still. She wants the best for her.

“I think we should kill him,” she says plainly. There’s no point in beating around the bush. “He makes you miserable and even I know he’s a bad leader.”

“We can’t kill him.”

Ava swipes toner over her face. “But you want to.”

“You understand that this is exactly why everyone is afraid of you.”

That’s a low blow, even if it is true. So Ava shuts her mouth and crawls under the throw blanket on the couch because they still don’t sleep in the same bed. No one cares for her here. No one wants her. Not Connor, not Sarah, not any number of the servants populating the endless rooms and halls. She just wants to give Sarah a reason to love her, and now there’s another layer of distance biting at her. It isn’t fair.

“I was just trying to help.”

“Don’t. The last time you helped, you broke Ethan’s cheekbone.”

“We both know I didn’t do that!”

“How can I be sure?”

That hurts. Burns all the way through. 

“Goodnight.”

The lights turn off and Sarah falls asleep so easily in the bed, breath evening out and going soft, but Ava is left awake in the knowledge that Sarah really does think she would do that to Ethan, who hasn’t done anything wrong. She supposes they really haven’t made much progress after all. She’s still just another carbon copy of her family. Someone shitty and terrible and selfish.

With all of it on her mind, she can’t sleep, and after a couple hours of trying, she makes her way out into the hall in search of something to occupy her mind with. Connor won’t open the door if she knocks, that much she’s learned. Everyone else is frightened of her. Ethan is asleep in guard’s quarters. Her feet carry her to another room in the royal wing, one with a guard on either side of the door, watching her carefully. They don’t stop her, though. She’s their princess.

Sarah’s father is sleeping, an oxygen mask over his face and his heart rate monitor beeping. It’s some sort of cancer, she thinks, but she doesn’t know for sure, and killing him could be as simple as unplugging his monitor and removing his mask. Maybe holding a pillow over his face. It could force Sarah to see that Ava doesn’t want to hurt her, but the thing is, Ava can’t. She can’t kill him.

She just stands there, watching him, paralyzed by the fact that she knows she will never be able to hurt him, that she’ll never forgive herself if she does, until the slightest shift of her weight makes the floor creak and the king awaken. He watches her for a moment, A frozen statue, a gargoyle, watching over his sleep. Then he unclips his finger from the monitor and removes his mask. Ava should run. She should get out of here while she has the chance. Her feet are stuck to the floor.

What finally gets her to move are his cold, firm hands closing around her neck and squeezing with more strength than she thought him capable of. She can’t breathe, can’t manage to claw his hands off her, but she knows that he’s staring at her and knows who she is. He’s aware that he’s killing his daughter’s wife, Princess Ava Reese, and there’s a hint of a smile on his face as he does it. Has he killed before? 

None of that matters. What matters is that her vision is going fuzzy and dark around the edges and she can’t even scream as he suffocates her. She can’t move. Her body is losing control. As one last ditch effort, she manages to knee him in the crotch, and he lets go easily. It’s her chance to get out, and she takes it, running from the room back to the safety of the space she shares with Sarah, struggling to breathe and wheezing desperately for oxygen. Somewhere along the way, someone catches her arm and she nearly elbows him in the face before realizing it’s just Connor. He never did sleep through the night at home, always wandering the halls or sketching up new dresses for her. 

“Ava? Are you okay? What happened?”

She can’t even answer. She just collapses against him and cries for all the loneliness of this fucking palace and the fact that no one cares to speak to her and how her wife’s father just tried to kill her and she wishes more than anything that she was home. Sure, she had little compared to now, but at least she had some semblance of warmth. There’s none of that now, as he brings her to the servant’s wing and the safety of his room. It’s small, sparsely decorated. Not yet his own. But it’s safe, and Ava curls up on his bed with a sense of familiarity that always came from spending time with her only friend.

“Do you want me to go get Sarah?”

She shakes her head.

Connor sighs and sits beside her, rustling in his pockets for a few minutes before producing and lighting a smoke. It’ll be hell on her fragile throat, but she craves something to cut through the pain and despair, so she takes it from him and inhales until it burns. She just wants to feel something. 

This time, they don’t pass it back and forth; he just lets her work her way through until she can get to sleep, and finally buries herself in the peace of a dreamless sleep by way of chemicals in her blood. It felt better when she smoked at home, but this is good too in a way. 

When she wakes up, she can almost forget, but the second she sees her reflection, the dark bruises on her neck that make themselves known when she wheezes in a breath, it comes flooding back. She covers her mouth and fights back a sob. Connor’s asleep on the floor, having left her to the bed. Fuck. Maybe Sarah was right about her.

Ava makes her way back to their room and goes straight into the shower like it can wash everything else in her life away. She wants to be able to calm down. But of course, Sarah comes to check on her because she noticed Ava was missing this morning, and she’s worried, and the second that she sees the bruises there’s a cold silence in the room.

“Who did that to you?”

She shakes her head and turns up the heat on the water. For a moment, she thinks she’s okay. Then Sarah is under the spray with her, gently wrapping arms around her and holding her close as the tears take her over and leave her sobbing into Sarah’s shoulder. At another time, she’d be focused on their skin pressed together, warm, close for the first time since their wedding night, but she can’t. There’s just too much pain.

“I’ve got you,” Sarah whispers against her temple. “It’s going to be okay.”


	9. Chapter 9

After getting Ava dried off and into pajamas and bed, Sarah prepares herself for war. Someone dared to put their hands on her, choke her until her neck is stained with bruises and every breath sounds reedy. Later in the morning, she’ll send a doctor to check in. But first, she needs to know who’s responsible. And that means retracing Ava’s steps.

There are few cameras inside the palace, most of them geared toward keeping out intruders while the privacy of the family is protected, but she’s able to follow the smell of smoke and the directions of silent guards to where Ava came from when she found her way back to their room early this morning. The worker’s wing, and specifically, a room housing one of Ava’s that followed her here. Sarah knocks twice, hard and loud, before the door opens to show her tailor. Connor, if she remembers correctly.

He stares at her for a few seconds before letting her in. His room smells of smoke and Ava’s floral perfume, proof she was here, and there’s a moment where Sarah wonders if he’s the one who hurt her. There’s nothing to prove that he wasn’t. But she’s also extremely aware that he’s capable of it, and so she crosses her arms and stares at him, hoping he’ll just confess whatever he knows.

When that fails, she gestures for him to sit down while she continues to stand above him. “Ava came from your room this morning. She has bruises on her neck.”

“I had nothing to do with that, Your Highness, I swear.”

“Then who did?”

The best he can say is that he doesn’t know, making her unbelievably angry because she just wants to know who did this to Ava and why. Someone hurt her. Likely tried to kill her, based on the bruises and how freaked out she was, and Sarah needs to know so she can protect her, even if she has little to no actual personal investment in Ava. That’s what she tells herself, anyway. 

“If I found out you had anything to do with it…”

“You won’t.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but the cracked door makes a strained noise as it opens fully, revealing a guard with a nervous expression on his face. He knows something. Maybe he did something. Sarah turns to stare at him head-on until he dares to open her mouth and tell her what’s on the tip of his tongue.

“If I may, Your Highness, I-” he looks to the ground. “I saw your beloved late last night, while guarding the king’s door. She went inside for a couple minutes, and when she came out, she was upset.”

“You didn’t follow her?”

It doesn’t matter, but she’s irritated that no one seemed to have actually cared to check on her. At least she’s got a better understanding of what happened; Ava must have gone to actually try and kill him, but rather than succeed, she got herself hurt badly. It could have been a guard, or her father, but neither option makes sense and she wants to know what happened.

She orders a guard she trusts- Ethan- to interview all the others during the day. Find out what they know. Everyone in the royal wing of the palace at the time, and keep it on camera, so that she can contend with her father, still thinking of the bruises on Ava’s throat. So dark and painful looking. The wheeze of Ava struggling to breathe. She needs to go to the infirmary, but Sarah doesn’t want her going anywhere until she knows she’s safe.

And that means breakfast with her father, just the two of them at the table, him acting like nothing happened. Even if he didn’t hurt Ava, in order for a guard to have done so, he must have ordered it. One way or another, he’s involved. 

“Someone attacked Ava last night.”

“Is that what she said?”

Sarah pushes her breakfast around on her plate. She won’t be eating it with her nerves, but it’s been served nonetheless. “It’s what the handprints on her neck said.”

“She was in my room, Sarah.”

“Did she hurt you?”

He doesn’t answer. Even if she had, it doesn’t matter, because he’s fine and Ava can’t breathe and Sarah has hated him for more years than she hasn’t. No court in this kingdom will try him, but there’s still only two weeks before Sarah ascends to the throne, and then she’ll be able to get rid of him. Not kill him, but probably lock him up somewhere he can’t cause any trouble until he finally keels over. It’s only a matter of time, she tells herself.

“Did you do it yourself, or did a guard help?”

“I did it myself.”

While she probably can’t trust him, she chooses to. It makes her feel a little bit better about her staff. At that, she leaves, sending Ethan a message to relieve him of questioning and then alerting the infirmary that she’ll be there soon with Ava. Everything will be okay, she tells herself, until she gets to her room and Ava is curled up in bed, hair still wet and wrapped in a blanket, staring at the wall but not really seeing.

“Ava?”

No answer, as she comes closer and lifts the blanket. There are other marks on Ava’s body. Scars, mostly, on her back or her stomach. Another time, she’ll ask, but for now, she wraps Ava up tightly in the blanket and summons a guard to help carry her to the infirmary. Her neck comes first. For possibly the first time, Sarah wonders what life was like for Ava, growing up with the family she did. Those who would hit Ethan in the face with a plate simply for not being a waiter are the same who raised Ava. What did they do to her? What did she do to them?

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but making sure she’s physically alright for now, as a guard brings her to help and Sarah puts in an order that she be kept updated while she tends to the million other things that need doing today. Putting in her new budget for the upcoming year and debating with parliament about her high budget for welfare. Finishing touches on her coronation gown. Getting Ethan a new set of formals because his got stained at the wedding.

Speaking of Ethan, she needs to make sure that Connor gets formals as well. There’s no doubt in her mind that he’ll be attending as Ethan’s guest, but neither of them will think about formals until it’s too late. Ethan’s all too focused on his duties, and Connor- Connor wore oversized Baille formals leftover from a former servant to the wedding because he didn’t have his own. She should have someone in charge of that. 

As Natalie takes in the top of the sleeves on her gown, leaving the ends flared like a bell, Sarah realizes she should probably commission a coronation gown for Ava too. Things are starting to become her responsibility, not just her father’s or her assistants’ but hers. Perhaps she’s not ready to be queen.

“My father tried to kill Ava last night,” she says, bending her elbow to let Nat work on the hems. “He choked her. She’s in the infirmary now, she’s having trouble breathing.”

She hums slightly and pulls out a pin. “I mean, I’m sorry to hear it, but you saw what she did to Ethan.”

“What?”

“His face, at the wedding.”

Sarah flinches. “Ava didn’t do that, it was one of her cousins.”

Although she doesn’t argue, Natalie doesn’t seem to believe her either, as she works on the gown for the next half hour in uncomfortable silence. Ethan said she didn’t hit him, Ava said she didn’t hit him, and Sarah doesn’t want to think either of them are liars. In a matter of hours, any fragile trust she’s built in Ava since the wedding is disintegrating rapidly. Her confidence in herself does the same. 

If only she had been able to protect herself from this marriage in the first place, maybe things would be better.


	10. Chapter 10

Ethan is the guard who stands at her bedside, staring forward stiffly while Ava’s examined by a doctor’s gentle fingers. He’s been healing, but there’s still a faint bruise and a dash of swelling on his cheek. She doesn’t keep tabs, but he apparently fractured his cheekbone, or something like that with the force of the plate. They were never that rough with her or the servants at home, that she remembers, but everyone's a little bit more bold here than they were at home.

“Are you in any pain, Your Highness?”

She’s not supposed to nod, in case it hurts her worse, so she softly says, “All over my neck.”

He orders a scan of some kind, gives her painkillers, and promises that everything will be okay, leaving her side to be replaced by a nurse to pull her bed away. Still, Ethan remains beside her. She wonders if he would actually protect her if it came down to it, her life or his. Without a doubt, he’d protect Sarah. But her? It’s her family that hurt him, and he hasn’t spoken to her since the wedding, just watching whenever they’re together.

“Did Sarah ask you to look after me?”

Ava doesn’t know if she wants that to be the case, or for it to be chance. He’s Sarah’s most trusted guard, a close friend, someone who rarely leaves her side, and he’s standing beside her in the hospital wing as she waits to find out if she’s ever going to fully recover from this. The doctor had seemed nervous when she asked, wouldn’t give her a real answer on whether or not the pain, the difficulty breathing and swallowing, would be forever, or just a few days. Whichever the answer, she knows she won’t be able to forget the fear of that moment. Thinking she was going to die.

“It’s my duty to protect the royal family,” Ethan answers, like he’s reading it out of a book.

It’s no use getting an answer out of someone who talks in scripts, she’s learned that over the course of her life, so she relaxes against the pillow and follows the doctor’s prompts while a loud machine hovers over her. Taking picture after picture, and eventually freeing her to be led back to the initial treatment area while the doctor sits beside her and explains what they’ve seen. 

Most of it is just medical talk, going over her head, but what she understands isn’t good. They want to keep a close eye on her here, in the infirmary, for a couple days just to make sure she’s alright. They want to give her extra oxygen, to help her breathe better. The doctor asks her to try and swallow, taking a note when she winces, and says that if she can’t get liquids down, they’ll put her on a feeding tube. All in all, nothing good and a sense of uselessness as a nurse puts a clear plastic tube around her face and positions it so two little plastic nubs are just barely going into her nose. It makes her want to sneeze. Her first inhale makes them squirt air up into her nose, which feels really weird, but she resists the urge to just take it off. 

Instead of continuing to stand, Ethan sits down beside her and watches the wall, which has to be boring; a good guard will see little to no action, so it must be so unendingly boring to just constantly look at nothing. She wouldn’t be able to do it, even if she could make it through training. The boredom would get to her.

“Ethan.”

He looks at her expectantly.

“Can you call Connor, or- or Sarah?”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

A quick message on his phone, and then he’s staring at the door intensely, like a statue as opposed to a person, completely ignoring her. Or at least pretending to. She sighs loudly, hoping to get him to at least ask how she’s feeling or something. No answer. 

It takes a bit of time, measured by Ava drifting in and out of sleep on a haze of painkillers and an anti-anxiety dose they gave her when she came in, but eventually, Sarah comes in, looking like a servant as opposed to a princess. She’s wearing sweatpants and a tank top, her hair pulled up in a messy, sloppy ponytail. And yet, there’s something about her soft face and confident posture that still screams “princess.”

Ethan stands up and gestures toward his chair, making Sarah roll her eyes, although Ava notes that she still accepts the seat and pulls it close. Looking at the oxygen line, the bruises on Ava’s throat, her hair. Anywhere but her face. When Ava reaches for her hand, she refuses to hold it, which hurts worse than her father’s hands.

“I need to get you a coronation dress,” Sarah says, and there’s an odd, hollow quality to her voice. “Do you want your seamstress to do it, or mine?”

“Connor,” Ava says. It hurts to talk.

Immediately, Sarah reaches into the cabinet of the bedside table for a water bottle, handing it to her for a drink. Ava should’ve thought of that herself earlier, but it doesn’t matter now as she twists off the cap and lifts it to her throat. Swallowing is strangely difficult. She manages it, though, and greedily takes a few sips before capping it and setting it aside for now. Sarah came. But not with any real concern, just royal duties. 

“Natalie will provide him with the right fabrics and some basic sketches for what’s traditional. Do you think that you’ll be up and walking around within a couple days?”

“Sarah,” Ethan says. He puts a hand on her shoulder. “You should talk to the doctor.”

He says it like she’s dying, and she’s fairly certain that she isn’t. They would’ve told her if she was dying. Even if she is the princess. Laying here, tired, maybe a little drugged, and thinking about how much simpler her life would have been if she could just stay home. It shouldn’t be too late to go back, if she really wants to. Her family will mock her, and she’ll feel like a failure, but at least she’ll be safe and back in familiar territory that she knows how to navigate. 

Sarah leaves her to talk to the doctor, and when she comes back, she tucks Ava’s hair out of her face and offers her such a sweet, genuine smile. “Let’s get you back up to our room, you don’t have to stay here.”

Ethan and a nurse help her into a wheelchair, Sarah pushing it while Ethan handles the oxygen tank for the entire distance to their room. Into bed, tucked in blankets, more comfortable than the hospital bed and feeling uncomfortably like the way Sarah’s father looked last night. She doesn’t feel as strong as he had been. Ethan leaves, the door shuts, the curtains draw, and now Sarah’s sitting beside her with a fragile expression. 

“Why were you in my father’s room? And I- what’s with the scars on your back? Who even are you, because we don’t talk and I met you less than a month ago and I just remembered how much of a stranger you are.”

They’re all valid questions, if the second is one she’d rather not answer, and Ava really does intend to speak. Even if it hurts. But the second she opens her mouth, she just starts crying and can’t stop, no matter how hard she tries until it’s just pathetic and Sarah lays down beside her and holds her. That part feels safe. But she’s still lost and hurting.

“I was trying to help,” she gets out. Barely. “I just wanted him to- to stop being so mean to you.”

Sarah kisses her temple, wraps an arm around her, and holds her until she falls asleep. Moreover, she’s still there when Ava wakes up, and she decides that there just may be something worth holding onto here, even if she may never heal.


	11. Chapter 11

As coronation approaches, Ava improves slightly, but not much. She was able to stand and take off her oxygen long enough for a handful of fittings, but she still needs it, and can’t eat anything tougher than oatmeal without coughing it up painfully. At least the bruises are fading faster than Ethan’s and will be easy enough to hide beneath concealer for the ceremony. She’s alright. Sarah’s alright. Natalie and Ethan are alright. Her father is bedridden. So the bag is mixed, Sarah supposes, and it’s hard to be certain whether it turns out good or bad in the final say.

Her budget failed the first pass at parliament to top it off, so she has an hours long meeting with advisors today to see what can or should be changed in order to get some more of the kingdom on board. Boring, but necessary to take care of her people better than her father has in his painful reign of abuse of power and women. She’ll spend her time undoing his mistakes, bringing back happiness to her people, and probably take care of Ava. As much as she’s old in some ways, she’s a child in others. Spoiled and a bit demanding, scared and out of place.

Life has become infinitely complex so quickly, beyond what Sarah can handle on her own no matter how much it seems she has to. If she doesn’t do these things, there’s no one else who would or could. Her father’s done a shit job, and he’ll be dead soon anyways, and she’s the only heir to the throne. Ava would be a disaster. 

She covers her face with her hands and sighs long and hard. She needs some semblance of control over her life again, after everything that’s happened to her and around her, and oddly enough the first thing that comes to mind is getting her father out of the way. Sure, this may well be an overreaction, but she just needs to feel like there’s something in this world that she can control. Her life has been up to someone else for so long. It would be bliss to take some of that back.

There’s the possibility of imprisoning him legally, were she the queen. She could move up the coronation, and with the full power of the crown upon her, she could feel the same power that her father has always had over her. Give him a taste of his own medicine for once. There’s not really anything stopping her.

Except for what her mother might think, or her people. She doesn’t want to be like her father, even if it’s specifically to get rid of him. It’s not something she has in her, no matter how much anger she has stored up after all these years under his thumb. That’s not the queen she will be, she promises herself, as she arranges for Ava to have access to her oxygen during the coronation and prepares statements to the press to explain it away, even without the damning evidence of the bruises on her pale neck. 

Coronation seemed so far away and unimportant, all things considered, when Sarah had stood in front of Natalie for finishing touches. Now, it’s days away. So fast. And she’s lost a faith in herself, a confidence that she’s capable of ruling when Ethan and Ava have been hurt right under her nose and she didn’t do a thing to stop it. It’s no one’s fault but her own. Even Natalie seems short with her lately, ever since the wedding and Ethan’s injury.

“How’s her dress coming along?” Nat asks, adjusting the plunge of Sarah’s neckline. 

“I don’t know. Her tailor is doing it.”

Her speech is being written for her, and there’s a team of people on decorations, but she remembers Connor and Ethan suddenly. “Ethan needs new formals. Connor doesn’t have any at all.”

“Okay?”

Sarah looks at Natalie, trying to figure out what that means. “They need formals.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do about that.”

The needle, for the first time in her life, pricks Sarah’s collarbone and she hisses in a breath through her teeth. “Don’t you make the clothes?”

“I make yours. Formals are mass-produced, they keep them in a warehouse in the city.”

“Oh.”

She didn’t know that. It’s something she should have, she realizes, because in retrospect it seems obvious. There’s so many people who need them, so of course there’s not the time or resources to make each one by hand. And she thinks she remembers that Ethan sews his honors patches on by himself.

The needle pricks her again and she flinches this time, pulling back and looking Natalie in the face. She won’t meet her eyes as she wipes the faintly red needle on her jeans and grabs a scrap to press to the small bead of blood to keep it from staining the cream neckline.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

Sarah stares her down. “In the years you’ve made my clothes, you’ve never hit me with the needle. Not once. And now, twice in five minutes? What did I do?”

“Nothing.”

But Sarah doesn’t believe her, and decides they should pick this back up later, before they stain the dress or Natalie actually hurts her, something she never thought she would do.

“Help me take it off.”

Without a word, Natalie undoes the clasps down the back and steadies her as she steps out of it, back into her comfortable clothes so she can get back to her other work. Why does Natalie suddenly hate her? Everyone does, out of nowhere, leaving her so alone save for the woman lying in her bed, wheezing and sleeping and eating popsicles with medicine in them. 

Sarah returns to her for any kind of break she can manage from the rest of her responsibilities. The guard outside nods at her respectfully as she arrives, stepping out of the way for her to let herself in.

Ava looks like the princess from one of the stories she remembers hearing as a child, hair haloed around her head and eyes shut, breathing slow and steady with the oxygen line tucked around her ears for stability. She’s peaceful. Beautiful. Sarah sits beside her, holds her limp hand and wonders how they got here, how they’ve managed to become a cruel woman with no friends and a battered one who can barely breathe on her own. She hates it. She hates herself and she hates Ava and all she can do about it is curl up with her wife and rest her head on her chest, soft and slowly moving with her lungs, her heart beating just a little bit too quickly. It’s alright, though. It’s all Sarah has now. 

She wishes she could just sleep through it, but she can’t ignore how much is waiting for her outside these closed doors, including her new budget plan to offer up to parliament. She just wants to help her people. In the city, there are children who need better funded schools so they can move up in the world. There are hospitals that need better equipment and more doctors. There are social programs that need funding or to be established to better help her people, and the parliament refuses to agree. They’re old like her father, appointed by him just before he got sick which means Sarah can’t get rid of them quite yet, and they haven’t passed a single progressive policy she’s offered. 

Jenia is more strict than her parliament, and Sarah wonders where Ava’s own opinions fall. She seems dismissive of the staff, but she’s loyal to Sarah, to those she cares about, in a way that Sarah’s own father never has been. That has to mean something. She needs it to mean something, or else she’s going to spiral downhill with no one but a monster at her side.

She presses a hand to her sternum, knowing that Natalie had hurt her today. Not like Ava’s family hurt Ethan, like her father hurt Ava, but the thought behind it is the same. It comes from anger. And it brings pain like Sarah can’t believe, when one of her only friends has decided that she hates her as she puts together her coronation dress for an event just on the horizon. She will be queen. She can help people. She can help Natalie and her son, Ethan and his sister.

“I hope you’re a good queen,” she whispers into Ava’s shirt, and allows herself a moment’s rest before someone comes running to pull her away.


	12. Chapter 12

Before Ava knows it, it’s coronation day, and the palace is a frenzy even more so than the day of the wedding. Connor is quiet, but not angry as he stitches her into her dress for good and a servant curls her hair out of her face. Pretty, but simple and ready to receive her crown. Her dress, on the other hand, is ornate with layers of different colors of fabric, embroidered symbols that she doesn’t understand, those that are beyond important to the kingdom and to Sarah from an ancient language, no longer used outside of official, traditional ceremonies like this one. 

“I’m going to be the queen,” she says, fixing her oxygen line again now that she’s in her dress. “They said it would never happen, you know. That I’d never get to be real royalty.”

“Shouldn’t you be more worried about your health?”

She shakes her head lightly and steps into her matching shoes. No gloves now, it’s not polite when she puts her hands on sacred items to the kingdom to swear her allegiance. Never will she turn against these people, especially her queen; Sarah is still technically her ruler. She’s a regent, a title, but not a true queen like Sarah will be. It’s close enough, though, and she’s beyond excited for the chance to wear the crown on her head, be recognized as someone important and beloved by her people as opposed to a mere lady. 

“I’m healing, and Sarah will take care of me. It barely matters.”

That is, until she gets a little lightheaded and Connor has to help her sit down and take a few deep breaths. One of the doctors is going to be increasing the concentration of it for the ceremony, if she remembers correctly, since she’ll be standing and talking more than she has, even with her daily walks to keep her strength up without overexerting herself. Even now, she’ll have a hard time walking to and from the ceremony after she had to stand for her dress. Someone will likely show up with a wheelchair, and a guard will push her to whatever other engagements she has in the meanwhile.

“Everything is changing,” Connor says, playing with his pockets as they wait. “Doesn’t it scare you?”

Ava never gets the chance to answer him, because Ethan arrives in full formals, like he wore to their wedding, and gingerly eases her into her chair before attaching her oxygen tank to the back of it. The first couple days she had a standard one that was rough on her body, but this new one seems made for her, more comfortable and sleek, smoother when it rolls. Sarah probably had something to do with that. She thinks of such little things.

Ethan is quiet, stiff as he brings her to the ballroom where they’re setting up for the coronation. A few camera crews have already set themselves up, their reporters doing soundchecks or reporting in that they’re getting ready for the official ceremony in only a couple of hours. But it all falls quiet when they see her, bruised and in a wheelchair, pushed by a guard. For some reason, this never occurred to her before. What the media will see, her family will see. She freezes as they all come rushing forward with questions, only to be blocked off by Ethan when they get too close. Telling them to back off, leave the princess be, return to their seats or they’ll be thrown out. She feels like she can’t breathe again. The only thing between her and the rest of the world is Sarah’s personal guard, in his neat white formal uniform, posture stark and voice commanding. He’s protecting her.

Two more guards come to help him, and Halstead approaches to help Ava leave and go around. He’s fast, not as smooth in his walk. “I don’t know why he did that, Your Highness, I’m so sorry.” Halstead says. He’s taking her now to a quieter space behind the hall, where there are makeup artists and speech writers and Sarah, looking beautifully ethereal and every bit the queen she’s going to be.

“Your Highness,” Halstead says, stepping in front of her. “Sarah.”

Sarah looks away from her cue cards, making her hair stylist frantically follow the movement of her head with the brush. “Hmm?”

“Ethan brought her into the main hall, where the press were waiting.”

There’s a moment where everything is still. All the stylists and servants, including the one currently mid-stride in her quest to bring Ava foundation. For the marks. Apparently, he really wasn’t supposed to do that. Why would he? He doesn’t seem like the sort who would defect against Sarah. He’s by all accounts a loyal, protective, incredible, strong guard who follows Sarah’s every word to a T. He wouldn’t have done that if Sarah had said not to. 

“He took Ava to the press.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Back to preparation, it seems, because there’s makeup being patted onto her throat, and someone’s touching up her hair, and one of the doctors is kneeling beside her to change the concentration on her tank. Sarah’s now talking rapidly to Halstead and a servant too quietly to hear, and the next thing she knows Ethan and the other guards who had been holding back the press are here to add to the crowd around them. Someone helps Ava to her feet and she’s told that all she has to do is stand up there, follow the prompts from Sarah’s father, and smile. No complicated speeches or suggestion of policy like is required of the true queen. She can just stand there and smile and watch the crowd. The press, countless officials, even a couple of townspeople. A murmur rushes over the people at the sight of her and she self consciously adjusts her hair to cover the line a bit better. But it’s still visible.

Then.

Every single guest stands as Sarah’s father comes in, unsteady but upright, wheezing as he’s given a safe seat at the throne. He’s healthier than her now. He can breathe better. And after him, Sarah, taking slow steps and smiling at the cameras, waving serenely, before she finds her place on the stage. There’s a little mark in black tape for her to stand. This whole thing is almost like a stage play.

Ava kind of zones out during the majority of the coronation, if she’s honest. She’s busy focusing on staying upright and not showing any weakness as Sarah gives a long, stiff speech that ends with a promise to look after her people. An oath sworn, just as Ava does beside her with one hand raised and the other flat on a holy book in Sarah’s father’s hand. A crown comes to her head first, gold with bright gemstones, heavy as a gloved guard lowers it onto her head. It’s a weight, but it’s so pretty, and it means accomplishing everything she’s ever wanted out of the world. She can’t help a bright smile as she watches Sarah be given a larger crown, dotted with more jewels and glimmering colors, and the room is loud. Clapping, some cheering, reporters clamoring into their cameras. A servant announces that they’ll be accepting questions in the morning, and Ava, Sarah, and the king are ushered back out of view where they’re quickly de-crowned, for lack of a better word. Gloved hands remove their crowns to put back into prisitie cases reserved for ceremonial wear. 

“Have dinner brought to our room, please,” Sarah asks Halstead, wiping off her makeup with a damp cloth. “And after that, no interruptions unless it’s an emergency.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Majesty, not highness. They are now queens, something that feels magical as Sarah takes her back to their room, not a guard, and gently helps her out of her gown and offers her a makeup wipe so they can shower and wash off every layer of responsibility that’s been thrown on them today. Warm water, peace, and a moment to realize that she’s been crowned queen but feels like it went so fast that it barely happened at all. It’s like she blinked and she’s living in another reality, as Sarah carefully pops the seams down Ava’s back and helps her step out of the fabric, out of the shoes.

“Are you okay?”

“I think so,” Ava answers, and helps Sarah in turn, although her hands are not as steady and she’s exhausted from the day’s activities. “I’m just tired.”

“I know the feeling.”

Sarah wipes Ava’s face clean so gently, and smiles at her so lovingly, and it feels so strange to have someone look at her like this and mean it, even more so when Sarah presses a tender kiss to her lips and helps her to the bathtub, already filling with bubbles and large enough for two.


	13. Chapter 13

After they’re both clean and dry, it doesn’t seem worth the time or effort to put on pajamas, and they both get into the soft covers and curl up in the fading light coming through the crack in the curtains. Lights off. Day fading. Sarah finds it hard to look away from Ava this time, looking so small and fragile as she tosses and turns, clearly struggling to get to sleep. It feels awful to just lay there and watch, so she leans close enough to give her a brief kiss to the cheek. It’s the smallest offer of intimacy. But what she receives in return is a real kiss from Ava, and a hand beneath the blankets drifting up the curve of her thigh.

“Ava,” she whispers, a question.

“Sarah,” a promise.

She leans over Ava, kisses her back and gets comfortable straddling her waist and feeling her warm skin beneath her. Trembling slightly when Sarah slots a thigh between both of hers to give her something in return. They both need this, so badly that it burns when they fall into the kisses again and she falls victim to the instinctive roll of her own hips and the response of Ava’s in a dance between them. Even as the longer they do this, the more Ava’s breathless inhales worry her and the worse she feels about the near selfishness of her actions. 

“Please,” Ava says, as she leads Sarah’s hand down to take the place of her almost mindless grinding. “I want…”

They’ve only done this once, a rushed wedding night done entirely to Ava with an uncertainty she didn’t wield well. She feels better this time than then, but worse all the same. Her chest feels tight and her stomach warm. All over, her body hums, and she craves a reassurance, a touch, anything. In answer to a question she didn’t ask, Ava’s cool fingers push between her folds with so much confidence that it’s shocking and refreshing all at once. It’s the end of her, the best of her, the life and death of all that she is as a woman, a wife and a queen. They don’t love each other, but they touch. 

And in this moment, it is enough.

She kisses Ava firmly to cover her own moans, close to afraid of their sound escaping the room, and as they touch each other, they build something. A trust, perhaps, that didn’t live within them before. They’re living in a beginning, or perhaps an end, but whichever is the answer it’s a piece. Ava’s own moans buzzing against her lips, little whimpers as she grows more familiar with this mirror reflection of a body not unlike her own, fill her like a high until the moment that it breaks and Ava nearly sobs into their kiss with the slightest shift of Sarah’s fingers inside of her. They’re in heaven. And it’s almost over, until Sarah collapses beside her and Ava doesn’t stop kissing her. They’re lazier now, not as frantic, but they’re close to each other in a way that makes her realize she’s missed so much intimacy during her life. 

She wraps her arms around Ava’s waist and pulls her close, nuzzling her face into the crook of her neck and inhaling the fresh, floral scent of her shampoo. There’s something worth holding onto, she tells herself, as she falls asleep in the intimacy for the most peaceful rest she thinks she’s had since the week leading up to the coronation. At least she hopes so.

In the middle of the night, she’s disrupted by crying, making her bolt upright and search for the source, for someone who needs her help or protection. But it’s coming from beside her. Her wife. She gently shakes Ava’s shoulders, trying to wake her from what seems to be a nightmare. It must be. Of what, she can’t imagine, but what matters is freeing her from it as soon as possible.

“Ava,” she says, shaking her just a little harder. “Ava, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

When she does wake up, it’s with a sob and a gasp for air, protecting her face with shaking hands before she realizes where she is. It breaks Sarah’s heart. She doesn’t know what she can say, if anything, so she opens her arms and holds her. Holds her, sweat sticky skin against her own, as Ava cries and tries to calm herself down, breathe easy again. 

“I’ve got you.”

She’s got her, even if she can feel the little scars on Ava’s back and she still remembers the way Ethan was hurt by her kin. She shouldn’t hold family against her, not when her own father is so terrible. No one else should either. Come morning, she may need to make some announcement or statement to that effect, in hopes of helping their future solidify, just before she officially puts her father somewhere he can’t cause any more pain to either of them, or anyone vulnerable again. She’s queen now. She has the power to protect them.

“No one will hurt you again, I promise,” she whispers.

And she means it, as they have a restless night for the next few hours until the sun rises to greet them. Her first full day as queen starts holding Ava and combing her fingers through her silky hair. They’re both queens now. Ava lacks the same amount of responsibility, but they’re both important figureheads now for their people. Or Sarah’s people. She finds it hard to think of them as the people of a Jenian woman, even her wife. 

“Good morning,” she whispers, and kisses Ava again. It’s like she can’t stop now that she’s started. “Feeling better?”

Ava hums and kisses her back, slowly sits up and adjusts her cannula before making her way to the vanity. Hair brushed and braided, face washed- she has a little routine, one that must be nice to get back to. They have to do an official press release today about Ava’s injuries, there’s another budget meeting, and Ethan will want her to come to his official recommission assessment. He’s been on duty, of course, but held back because of his injuries. It’ll be a relief for them both to see him restored to full duty. She’ll certainly feel safer for it, and hopes Ava will too. 

She gets up herself and reaches for a suit. Too many nice gowns have come on rough days recently, especially her hand-made ones, so a suit does better. Buttoned shirt, tailored slacks, a blazer that she knows makes her shoulders into a stiff line. She will not be a pretty princess any longer. She is a queen, and she feels it in her chest as she pulls her curls into a bun. No lipstick or mascara. No father’s expectations. She belongs to herself, and when she looks to Ava, she feels like she’s seeing a completely different woman than the one she first married all those weeks ago. It’s a good thing, thought. The changes haven’t all been bad.

She feels safe, to put it simply, when she steps out of her bedroom door with Ava at her side, and Halstead awaits with a wheelchair, Ethan with his release forms. They’re taking a step forward, for the better, and she’s not afraid.

“Your Majesty,” Ethan greets. 

She takes his offered arm and walks with him to the infirmary. She is alive. Her life is moving forward. The queen walks with her guard to the place he will be returned to her in full, and she’ll be safe. It will be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @princessbekker


End file.
